there's more to life than this
by public enemy no. 5
Summary: this party's getting boring. —johanna/katniss; for amanda


"Are you feeling guilty?"

Johanna's grin is practically tangible, even in the dark of the bedroom. She shifts over on her side of the bed, not facing the other woman, unnerved by the question - though maybe it's not the question that unnerves her so much as it is Johanna's tone, casual and unconcerned. What would Haymitch say, if he were to walk in right now? Or Peeta, if he woke and found her missing?

It's not just guilt, it's fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of Johanna, fear of the surprising pleasure. Of the way she writhed as Johanna stroked her at a frustratingly slow pace until she was ready to scream. Of the sweet taste of Johanna's lips and tongue.

"Well, I had a good time even if you didn't," the District 7 victor says, voice high and giddy. _Wine_, she thinks. _At the banquet_. _That's it_. _That's why_. They've both had too much to drink.

A finger jabs her in the shoulder. "Come on, Girl on Fire. I can't be that bad, can I?" Now she can imagine Johanna pouting, full lips pressed together and eyes playing hurt. "Am I as good as Peeta, at least?" There's a pause while Johanna considers something. "Or have you never fucked him either?"

"Of course I haven't," she mumbles hoarsely. "If you think-"

"Shh." Johanna claps a hand over her mouth, cutting her off-mid sentence as she sits upright in bed and glances around. "Don't really think that Snow would want to hear that kind of thing. I'm not sure you'd like him to hear that, either."

Pushing Johanna's hand away in annoyance, she swings her feet out from under the covers and dangles her legs above the edge of the bed, lightheaded. Snow. The Games. There's going to be the interviews with Caesar tomorrow - she'll need to get back to her own room quickly, before Haymitch or, god forbid, Effie, discovers where she's gone and what she's been up. Haymitch might laugh it off, but Effie - she'd say things like _collusion _and _you shouldn't be seen with that woman, don't you know what she is, word of mouth flies around here faster than you can think of, Katniss. _

Johanna Mason is, after all, known in the Capitol for more than just her skill with an axe.

"Leaving already?" She turns and there's Johanna, eyes smoky and strangely lit. None of them have put anything back on, and Johanna's breasts and flat, lean stomach are bared for all the world to see. Or, in this case, just for her alone. There's a wiry musculature to the District 7 victor that reminds her a bit of the hunting dogs she saw lurking around the Hob back in District 12. Big, slim, and deadly, they'd been owned by a lucky few - mostly hunters of the same stock as her and Gale, but older and more grizzled - to snatch up rats and stray animals roaming the market. No one ever came close to pet them, not even the lazier Peacekeepers who came around every once in a while to make sure that things weren't out of order. Johanna is just that - a hunting dog, a victor. Not to be trusted.

"I suppose it's your right," sighs the other girl, cracking her neck. "Go on, get dressed and get out, if it's what you want. I've been ditched before." There's cruelty in the lines of Johanna's smile. "You don't have to be different." The pillow makes a _whoomph _sound as Johanna flops down on it, giving a long-suffering sigh like she's already become bored of Katniss' presence. "Just tell Haymitch hi for me."

At the doorway, she stops. "Thank you," she tells Johanna stiffly, "for tonight."

A snort. "Please, I can smell a half-assed apology from a mile away, and yours absolutely _reeks_." Another noisy exhalation. "But, for what it's worth, I did have some fun. Maybe you did, too. Though you'd better not tell Haymitch that little secret. Not sure how he or that Capitol lady with cotton balls for hair would spin your angle after a revelation like that."

Cheeks burning, Katniss pushes through the door and half walks, half stumbles through the chilly hall back up to her own apartment with Peeta, faint snatches of Johanna's girlish laughter trailing in her wake.

* * *

"Where'd you get that bruise on your neck?" Haymitch asks the next morning over breakfast. Effie looks up, unsure. Peeta's still showering.

"Training injury," she answers.


End file.
